


Kinder for It

by edy



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Ghost BC Reverse Big Bang 2020, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: On the evening following Cardinal Copia's papal ritual, there will be a feast.
Relationships: Fire Ghoul | Alpha Ghoul/Omega | Quintessence Ghoul
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Ghost BC Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Kinder for It

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this fic is for the ghost BC reverse big bang 2020 :-) i was paired with [ezra](monstranceclock.tumblr.com), so i got to write a fic based off [a piece of art](https://monstranceclock.tumblr.com/post/629011283617939456/my-art-for-the-ghost-reverse-big-bang-hosted-by) they drew!!! ezra got me into ghost, so it felt really right that we ended up working together on this big bang <3 especially since this is my first step into writing ghost fic! i had a lot of fun >:-)
> 
> a BIG thank you to [anya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralgrime) for beta reading! i was super nervous about making my first ghost fic a good one and she threw so much support at me <3 <3

On the evening following Cardinal Copia's papal ritual, there will be a feast.

Because of their noble status among the other ghouls, Alpha knows he and Omega must surrender their plans to stand by the new Papa Emeritus' side as the night commences. Like the Papas before this Cardinal on tenterhooks, they will oblige—not like their old ghoul bones had anything better to do with their immortal time.

Events surrounding this Cardinal's ascension differs from the Emeritus brothers Alpha has come to know over their humanly years; yet, what paints this ascension in a different light is the death of Papa Nihil. Before Nihil, no Papas met their demise when their successor stepped forward to the ritual floor. This Cardinal was anointed as soon as Nihil played his last note the night before—or so Alpha hears. He dares not speak of such matters to Sister.

Her piercing, bloodshot eyes relay more to him than her attempt at niceties, as if she's daring Alpha to pester her from her place at Nihil's desk, her lithe fingers poised upon his typewriter. Alpha attempts to capture the meaning of the neat scripts strung across the pages on the desk, but all the words appear like bees buzzing in languages Alpha hasn't had the time to thumb through yet.

He asks Sister, "Where is he now?" and watches Sister's chin twitch the slightest bit before she swipes the back of her fist across her mouth and utters, "In the crypt, with his sons."

Alpha doesn't press it further.

He must dress in façades, and so, he tells her, "I will pay my respects, then prepare the Cardinal for his coronation."

" _Papa_."

"Papa—yes," Alpha says.

Alpha has only shared minimal time with the man, and often caught himself avoiding him altogether if it were possible. Alpha found it odd how the Cardinal could quiet the distressful tightening in his ribs.

The tips of Sister's fingers skim along the keys of the typewriter, searching for words Alpha himself couldn't fathom. She has longed for Nihil maybe longer than he for her, and this yearning rolls off her in waves Alpha swears smells exactly like marigolds planted decades upon centuries ago in the garden, by hands Alpha knows as intimately as his own. He shudders, clears his throat.

Bolder than he should be in front of Sister, he tells her, "I will notify Omega of our duties for the night. He will join me after he pays his respects for Papa Nihil."

"Your mate will not be needed tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"I was quite clear." No veil of sorrow casts itself over her waterlogged eyes; she sees right through him.

He tries to calm the agitated whiplash of his tail as it strikes the back of his knees. With his hands already resting at the small of his back, he's able to grab hold of his tail by the base—and he squeezes it so hard to keep his tongue from spitting out embers. "If that is what you wish, Sister."

"That is what our new Papa wishes," she states. "Now—leave me."

Alpha bows wordlessly before Her Dark Excellence and exits Nihil's office.

*

Nihil's body looks as it always has, complete in his robes and the paint that distinguishes him as head of the church. Looking down at him, Alpha considers the possibility of him sleeping. He imagines the old man must snore, but with his lips sewn shut to accommodate the visitation they will no doubt offer after the Cardinal's coronation, no sounds of his slumber will sweep through the frigid halls of the crypts.

Alpha holds his mask down by his waist. It feels heavier now, made of iron, so heavy he can taste it on his lips. Somehow, he knows this is grief.

It would be a lie to say he didn't care for Nihil. In his own way, Nihil did value the band of ghouls Sister summoned for him, even if he spent most of his time sleeping with his groupies and lying to Sister about it. Sister knew. Of course, she knew, but that didn't make it sting any less. Once, after the second Emeritus brother passed the torch to his younger brother, she pondered aloud why Nihil didn't just "fool around with the ghouls" like his sons did. While Alpha was in the same room as her at the time, he chose not to deign her with a response; why should he bother confirming or denying what she already knew to be true?

He supposes dying doing something you loved was the best way a human could go. It was only a matter of time, really; Nihil already toted an oxygen tank. All the fibs they told the old man, assuring him that he looked well—Alpha wants to peek beneath that corpse paint and uncover who Nihil was before Sister sunk her teeth into him, if maybe he would look the same underneath it all.

Alpha stretches out a hand, crooks a finger, and brushes away a touch of black makeup along Nihil's cheek with the sharp edge of his claw.

The way the door swings open—Alpha thinks Nihil himself has done it; the door bounces and leaves marks on the wall behind it. If not Nihil, Alpha expects Sister, who may think Alpha wouldn't have spent so long down here; or maybe Omega, who may think the very same; but it's the Cardinal who stands there in the doorway, his black-gloved hands waving in front of him as he scrambles to grab hold of the doorknob. "Ah, shit," he mumbles under his breath.

Alpha hurries to replace the mask over his face so the Cardinal might see him, but the Cardinal greets him as if he could see him all along. He moves to stand next to Alpha, his arms behind his back and leans over Nihil's body, as if he might say a prayer. Instead, the Cardinal says, "Have you, uh, _heard_ anything?"

Frozen, his mask still in his hands, Alpha says, "Am I supposed to hear something?"

" _Ah,_ no, no… Nothing at all. My mistake."

Humans cannot make sense of ghouls' true forms, so the ghouls must wear masks in order for them to adopt a vessel humans can recognize. Most of the time, these forms are reflected in humanoid fashions, but Alpha has met ghouls who favored more animal forms, though angels frequented them more often.

His time spent with the third Emeritus brother allowed Alpha to catch a hint of what humans perceive ghouls' true forms to be. This sultry Papa tipped up Alpha's mask. Even beneath his face paint, he paled at the sight he saw. He murmured a curse he learned from his brother, and then apologized to Alpha. He was bashful. This confused Alpha, who had only known him to be everything but. Alpha would never learn exactly what it was he had seen when he looked into Alpha's eyes, just that it forced him to his knees to hug Alpha's ankles as though he were pleading for his life.

This Cardinal, however, does nothing of the sort. He seems undisturbed, really, like being near a ghoul's unmasked form is where he feels most at home. He even smiles, but Alpha deems that a reflex brought on by whatever memories of Papa Nihil were playing in his head at the moment.

After the third Emeritus brother, in his hubris, sent Alpha and the rest of his band of ghouls straight back to Hell during another night of, what humans label, a _bender_ , Alpha was positive he would never see the sun rise again on this planet. But Sister undid the third brother's curse as efficiently as trimming her fingernails. And when Alpha opened his eyes, he discovered how much it _hurt_ to be up on the surface, even with Omega clinging to his legs, singed nearly to the bone—reminiscent of the first time they were summoned. Alpha never thought he would wish to be within the hellfire once more.

The Cardinal eased that pain by fractions, by mere seconds. He was there when Alpha scraped through the dirt and the foundation of the church at those enticing human voices; his eyes—so much like the other Emeritus' own—were the first eyes he saw. They frightened him; how big they were, how _sick_ , as if he were truly infested with the plague like all the rumors said. He knew they must be purely cosmetic, like the Papas' ceremonial paint, but there was something about them—about _him_ —that reeked of pestilence.

No matter how much Alpha fought to steer clear of the man, as he stood on the upper levels of the church's library, his lungs would relax and never shiver another lick of agony at the Cardinal's entrance into the chamber, where he often spent his time in the church. On more than one occasion, Alpha considered leaning over the banister and calling down his thanks, not thinking for a moment that the Cardinal may not be aware of his subconscious power—but then, the Cardinal would trip on his cassock or squeal the tires of his tricycle into a shelf, and Alpha would leave him to his cleaning.

"Cardinal," Alpha starts, then grinds his teeth together. " _Papa_ ," he corrects himself, but the man has already turned toward Alpha at the mention of his former title—the red bird symbolic of death, blood, spirituality, and love.

"No," he says to Alpha. "Call me Copia, if you must call me by a name."

"What else would I call you, if not by your name?"

Like with the Emeritus brothers, his eyes linger on Alpha, that blue eye dimming in color, then illuminating, as if it were a bulb in a heat lamp ready to burst. " _Rat_ ," he says, before lowering himself to Nihil's body once more. He's nearly nose to nose with the man, and Alpha hears him muttering, so softly that if Alpha were not sure Nihil's lips were sewn shut, he would think it came from those very lips.

Alpha returns his mask to his face. It fits like a second skin.

*

Alpha finds Omega in their garden, tucked away among the dandelions and poison ivy. He has his cane in the weeds next to him and a cat on his lap, a large gray thing that rivals Alpha's own affection for Omega. When Alpha approaches his mate, the cat stands to bear all her weight on Omega's thighs, stretching her neck to Alpha. He watches her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air he whips up from sitting next to Omega.

With a begrudged pat between the cat's ears, Alpha tilts his mask up to the top of his head and plants a kiss to Omega's temple.

"Nuh-uh, not getting away with that," Omega hums, curving his hand to the base of Alpha's skull to draw him in for a proper kiss—mouth to mouth, the chins of their masks clinking together like two glasses of champagne.

Together, they sit there, breathing in each other's air, Omega's rings threatening to tangle in Alpha's hair like they so often do. And then, quietly, Alpha bends, gives in, and Omega's arms are so warm, so comforting, as they lower him to the dirt and draw him into Omega's chest. "There, there," Omega says, the repetition of that word more of a grounding point than the ground itself. It hurts down here, and Alpha will never not struggle to breathe. _There, there_.

The third Emeritus was _smart_ beneath his sloth. He was efficient in his own way, and his words left traces. Alpha knows that's why it hurts to be up here again, why some of his fellow ghouls resort to otherworldly vices in order to curb the ache in their bodies—the symptoms different for each ghoul. Alpha can't blame them; he and Omega have their own specialized blends, curated by the earth ghouls that oversee the many gardens of the church.

As a fire ghoul, Alpha felt as though he were on the edge of drowning. For Omega, a quintessence ghoul, he experienced life with burning in his limbs—a sensation Alpha craves and craves and _craves_ to feel again. Sometimes, late at night, when the rest of the clergy slept, Alpha and Omega would hold each other so close and so dear, kissing as they kiss now, and truly believe that everything was normal again.

"I want to kill him," Alpha says.

The cat strikes Alpha's hip. Her claw snags on a loop in his pants. Omega helps her escape. "When haven't you wanted to kill him?" Omega rubs the cat's paw between his forefinger and thumb, causing the beast to purr a rumble that Alpha likens to thunder. "Remind me," Omega says, "who is it you want to kill this time?"

" _Papa_."

Omega lies there, the cat in one arm, Alpha in the other. "Don't you get tired of killing them?" He turns his head, askewing his mask and biting back a smile on his face. "What has this new Papa done that makes you want to kill him?"

Alpha struggles forming a coherent sentence that encompasses all his thoughts and feelings. If he knew how to articulate them all, he would regurgitate them for Omega to witness, but Alpha ends up flinging his head back against the dirt in their garden and saying, "He doesn't want you there."

For a moment, Omega is silent, like he's seriously considering allowing Alpha to participate in killing the Cardinal, until he replies, "I appreciate your loyalty, but I would rather the blood on your hands remain your own."

The familiar burn in Alpha's gut reignites at Omega's voice, a slow burn that sparks as often as Alpha breathes. When he sits up and pulls a leg to his chest, the sun hits Omega in the eyes, but Alpha watches him lazily raise a hand. His fingers curl, the sunlight dancing along his rings, and Alpha has to lean forward, has to brace his hands on either side of Omega's shoulders and kiss him. _There, there._

Yet, even in the sanctity of their garden, with the sunlight hitting his back, Alpha still feels as if he were about to drown. So, he dives in deeper, allows his mask to fall forgotten to the soil; and Omega embraces this, embraces him; and the cat—she leaves them be without so much as a flick of her tail in goodbye.

*

When Omega goes to pay his respects for Nihil, the Cardinal continues to occupy the room, no mind to the cracked door, the two ghouls standing near the doorway, or the telltale signs of company approaching by the smooth _click-click_ of Omega's cane against the tile floor. He flutters as if he were truly a bird, his head twisting this way and that as he cranes his neck over Nihil's face, whispering again. His lips sound like sandpaper; it perks Alpha's ears and brings Omega's eyes to his own, narrowing the slightest bit— _Interesting_ , they say, and Alpha squeezes Omega's hand.

_Yes, quite._

The Cardinal raises his head. Alpha catches his eyes, the single blue one, and finds nothing there.

As if the way into Nihil's room were a revolving door, when the Cardinal steps into the hallway, Omega takes his place—but not before the Cardinal waves at Omega, a skittish move that amuses Omega as he looks down at the Cardinal. He tilts his head in response to that feeble wrist flick and slips in the room. Unlike the Cardinal, he lets the door close behind him.

Quietly, the Cardinal offers the same jerk of his wrist to Alpha, now more in control, curling his fingers into a fist that Alpha briefly entertains bumping before the Cardinal hides his hands behind his back. "I always forget," the Cardinal says, a little breathless, "how _big_ he is." He gestures with his hands, then, stretching a hand up over his head. "Oh, but I know you're, uh, _used_ to it."

"You could say that."

It isn't a joke, yet this doesn't stop the Cardinal from letting out a noise Alpha can only assume is meant to be a laugh—nervous and small, much like the man himself. Thankfully, the Cardinal recovers quickly and moves away from Alpha. The hem of his black cassock hides his feet; he looks like he's floating down the hallway of the crypt, head bowed, whispering again.

 _Strange_ , Alpha hears Omega through the door. _You notice it, too?_

 _Elaborate, dear_.

_Fuck you._

Alpha follows the Cardinal down the hall, matching his long strides until they stand side by side at the elevator. Peering through the eyeholes of his mask, Alpha watches the Cardinal glance upward to him, the corners of his mouth twitching, his chin—for a moment, Alpha wonders if the Cardinal might begin to cry, but it's a silly thought, and Alpha waves it off.

"You know," the Cardinal says, "I try to view you as my equal. I know the others… Some of them weren't so nice to you." Even as he speaks, his chin continues to quiver, like he truly is trying to hold something inside. Alpha wonders what it is, if he can smell it off him, but all he detects is the scent of general anxiety—a common fragrance for the Cardinal. Could it be _this_ that makes the pain roaring in Alpha's lungs settle down to the arches of his feet? Is it sympathy for this Cardinal that makes Alpha's subconscious pester him into minimizing his own trivial agony?

"We serve you," Alpha says. "We serve the church. We serve Papa—"

" _Please_ ," the Cardinal hisses. "My name is Copia."

The elevator doors slide open. At his insistence on scrambling inside first, the Cardinal nearly knocks over a concrete flower vase stashed to the left of the doors. He catches it before it tumbles from its low pedestal, and he pulls it between his legs, to his chest, where he cradles the stone and the wilting flowers as he sits between the elevator doors, keeping them from closing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

Alpha's stomach churns at the smell of the dying flora; he feels the scent twist in his nostrils and bury deep in his lungs, forcing him to become even more painfully aware of his human body. Despite the discomfort, Alpha registers this sensation as the most _alive_ he has felt since Sister brought him back to this realm.

Although he isn't nearly as strong as his mate, Alpha manages to crouch behind the Cardinal and loop his arms around his torso, pulling him—and the flower—the rest of the way into the elevator. Once he has the Cardinal inside, Alpha punches the button to the Cardinal's chambers, and then joins him on the floor.

They sit there together, silent, as the elevator rises, and Alpha, after studying the side of the Cardinal's blank face, says, "You don't want this, do you?"

"I want it more than air," the Cardinal whispers, "but sometimes, I end up hyperventilating."

"Too soon, then," Alpha considers. "This is happening too fast."

"Much too fast."

"You killed him, didn't you?"

The Cardinal closes his eyes. "It was supposed to be _slow_ … but I was never as good as the others at practicing magic or… or applying poison to a _fucking saxophone reed_." He curls into the flowerpot. "Give me a book of theories at dusk, and I will have it memorized for you by dawn. I, I—careless mistakes, I _am_ a careless mistake, and I am cursed to relive them." When he opens his eyes, he turns to Alpha. His blue eye looks milky, like it's leaking, like it doesn't belong, and Alpha wants to reach over, wipe it clean, and suckle the fluid from his thumb. He wonders how it would taste, if it would make him feel powerful, all-encompassing, or void of anything holistic.

The elevator doors open. The Cardinal stands on his own. He takes the flowers with him.

*

Stretched across their unmade bed, sweating and heaving their chests and fighting to be the first to reach for the other's hand after their post-orgasm haze dissipates, Alpha and Omega weigh the state of the world. For Omega, Alpha's self-prescribed dosage of sweetness that sits heavy on the stomach, he wants to believe the world is inherently good. Alpha knows this is from his time spent in Heaven before he made the unceremonious trip down to Hell, but he wants to believe there's stake in his words.

Alpha had been the first demon to literally _stumble_ upon Omega as he lay in a crater, in the middle of a field of fire, surrounded by a delicate halo of burnt feathers. On his hands and knees, Alpha brushed the soot from Omega's face and recognized himself in those hurting eyes. Alpha took Omega's hands, helped him to his feet, and Omega hasn't let go since.

Even now, though Alpha grabs for Omega's hand first, it has always been Omega to guide his actions.

"Did you hear anything," Alpha asks Omega, "when you visited him?"

Omega raises his head from Alpha's chest, then turns, presses his cheek right back down, now looking up at Alpha. "Was I meant to hear something?" His rings are the same temperature as the rest of his body, fire-hot and radiant, dripping through Alpha's own—just enough for Alpha to ignore the pressure burrowing deep in his knees, his elbows, even the base of his neck. How odd, he thinks, how difficulty breathing can manifest in the body.

"The Cardinal asked me if I heard anything. I assumed he meant from the body, rather than some rumor around the church." With his free hand, Alpha runs the tips of his fingers along the side of Omega's face. He feels the bones beneath his skin, the edges of his teeth, the scar on his lip. "What have _you_ heard, my dear?"

Omega knits his brows together, a slow action that resolves itself quickly as he uses his own free hand to tap up Alpha's sternum. "Before your arrival at our garden, I spoke to that ghoul named Mountain. He all but admitted he had a hand in poisoning the old man. He wouldn't spill such details, of course, but it was easy enough to infer." Omega pauses for a moment, raising his head to press a kiss to the underside of Alpha's chin. "He cares for us," Omega says. "Not like Nihil or his sons didn't care for us, but the Cardinal—I think the Old One sent him to us."

And there's tears in Omega's eyes as he speaks this, trailing down his cheeks as he pushes himself into an upright position next to Alpha. Alpha mimics the move and doesn't stop his hands when they press to Omega's back, between his shoulders. "Beloved," he whispers into Omega's skin, like it's a curse, a prayer, a balm.

"I'm tired of hurting all the time," Omega whispers right back. "Even here, with you by my side, I still hurt—and I don't want to hurt when you're by my side."

Alpha kisses Omega's cheek. "We share the same fear."

"When don't we?"

Alpha gives Omega another kiss before he slips from the bed. Drawing Omega's discarded shirt over his shoulders, Alpha sits at the desk, tucking his legs underneath him and feeling his tail sweep along the floor, ticking like a clock. He digs around in the drawers, pulling out an old Bible, a mortar and pestle—stained—and three small boxes carefully labeled for each specimen inside.

Grasping his cane to help him from the bed, Omega leans over Alpha, grabs the Bible from the desk, and returns to the bed. He begins to rip away the thin pages, piles them into a small stack next to him. He's bent over his work, head low, the handle of his cane hooked onto his knee, his tail sweeping just as Alpha's does.

Before he joins Omega back on the bed, Alpha cracks open their window to let in the setting sun. He'll be expected to see the Cardinal soon, prepare him for his coronation. He's excited for the feast, all the food, the theatrics of a new Papa Emeritus—and he's excited for Omega and him to sit on either side of their new Papa, sneaking glances at each other, smiling beneath their masks.

But for now, he resides tucked into Omega's flank, his joint between his lips as Omega sends rings above their heads from his own—a combination of white horehound and hyssop for Alpha; a hit of wormwood for Omega. With each draw, Alpha's lungs feel as normal as normal goes.

"Tell me a story," Alpha says. "Tell me about when the world was kind, and we were kinder for it."

And Omega does.

*

The runt of a mixed litter, the ghoul named Dewdrop skids around the corner of the hall, his legs like two javelins as he attempts to round the corner with more grace than his body allows. Behind him, Aether, another quintessence ghoul, pulls at one of Dewdrop's suspenders, snapping it against his back. Alpha can hear it from his place at the other end of the corridor, leaned up against the wall next to the Cardinal's quarters. The sharp slap of it forces him to grit his teeth.

Dewdrop, however, is delighted over this, and he appears to provoke Aether further to receive another dose. He hops on his heels in front of the larger ghoul, twitching his head from one side to the other, the long sliver of his forked tongue threatening to graze Aether's skin.

Aether bats him away, daring to send him into a wall. Within that gesture, Alpha recognizes the admiration, even with that mask over his face.

Behind these ghouls, two more follow—a ghoul called Cumulus and a ghoul Alpha only knows by the name Special. Both hold the items the new Papa requires for his coronation tonight—Cumulus, his robes; Special, a box of face paint. The closer they approach Alpha, it's clear Aether and Dewdrop are only here for company, maybe tasked as the eyes and ears for their friends.

Alpha knows Dewdrop served the last Papa briefly, a water ghoul then, but he plays alongside the Cardinal now—fire, like Alpha. The way he pounces onto Aether's back reminds Alpha of fire ghoul kits. He wonders if the fire within him will mellow to a shimmer as he ages, like Alpha's has, more of a muted rage now in everything he does, or if the water ghouls in his litter have made it so he forever burns with an endless supply of gasoline.

Cumulus presents Alpha the robes. He accepts them, and he watches Special set the box of paint on top of them. The robes are the most iridescent blue, accented with gold and black—intricate designs Alpha has only ever seen in his sleep. The shabby box of face paint missing a hinge belittles the fabric, clean and pressed for tonight's feast, but Alpha doesn't think that's bad—no, he thinks it's just right for Cardinal Copia.

"How is he?" Cumulus asks, her eyes veering to the door into his room. She dotes on him as much as she dotes on her lioness mate, but the look she gives the door is more anxious and lacking in self-assurance. Nothing Alpha tells her will soothe her mind, so he doesn't try.

Special, on the other hand, says, "Oh, he's a fucking mess. You should have seen him trying to talk to Sister earlier. He had to leave the room to throw up—and he didn't even make it to the bathroom."

"Did you have to clean it up?" Cumulus says, and Special chooses not to answer this.

"Tell Sister he will be ready in an hour," Alpha says. "I'll make sure he doesn't vomit anymore."

While Cumulus herds Dewdrop and Aether down the hall, Special lingers, and he stands in front of Alpha with his arms behind his back and his steel-gray eyes locked onto Alpha's own. The gaze is soft, and it revolves to the door, like Cumulus before him. He marvels at the door. He breathes. Alpha breathes with him.

And with that, Special becomes another sheep in Cumulus' herd.

*

In the Cardinal's room, their new Papa Emeritus stands in front of his vanity, his palms pressed to the ebony wood and his head hanging low between his shoulders. The way the bulbs' light bounces off the wood, Alpha realizes the Cardinal has spent many a night standing like this, for the way the wood slightly dips beneath his hands is evident of the strength—and the fear—behind the Cardinal's pose.

At Alpha's entrance into the room, the Cardinal turns his head toward him, his eyes just as wet as they had been in the elevator. When the Cardinal forces himself into the chair in front of the vanity, the fright disappears from them, if only for a second. They sprout as readily as weeds once Alpha starts toward him and lays the robes and box of face paint on the dresser. From the corner of his eye, Alpha watches the Cardinal in the mirror; the Cardinal watches him right back.

"Tell me," he says, "how did it feel to kill the others?"

Alpha narrows his eyes at the man's reflection before he slowly turns around to face him head on. "I will admit I am unaware of your exact knowledge of those events. I know you are a senior member of the church, and so you must have been aware of Sister's plans for the Emeritus brothers. Their deaths were… necessary, according to Sister." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Is that why you requested for my sole presence here, to sit with you as you prepare to take the throne? Do you have a death wish, _Papa_?"

No tension leaves the Cardinal's shoulders. In fact, it heightens and becomes permanent as Alpha takes a seat on the vanity dresser, braces his feet on the arms of the Cardinal's chair, and takes the Cardinal's face in his hands.

Any fear that might live within the Cardinal hides itself in Alpha's shadow, where he blocks all light from reaching the Cardinal as he continues to sit on the dresser. The Cardinal's voice, it's slow, and it's steady, and Alpha almost doesn't recognize it—"How did it feel," he murmurs, "to behead him long after his death? How did it feel to leave his head on my pillow?"

"It didn't," says Alpha, and tries to believe it isn't a lie.

From the sleeve of the Cardinal's cassock, the head of a white rat pops out. Without breaking eye contact with Alpha, the Cardinal runs his thumb along the rodent's head, which brings the rat to a near slumber as it shuts its red eyes and breathes a gentle squeak. A beat passes throughout the room until Alpha notices that the squeak had not come from the rat, but the Cardinal himself—and he breaks in Alpha's hands, folds in on himself, and Alpha wonders if he might vomit here and now again, but he only focuses on that rat poking out of his sleeve, rubbing his fingers into its fur with such a gentle veracity that makes Alpha wonder if the Cardinal is recreating what he desperately desires for himself.

Alpha slides from the vanity. The bulbs illuminate the tears on the Cardinal's face, which Alpha blots with a tissue he plucks from a box on the nightstand by the bed. "I didn't know," he says, like it'll provide reassurance. "If something were to happen to Omega, I…" He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to finish; the Cardinal understands.

He says, "That's why I brought you back together."

And Alpha understands now, too.

The rat burrows into the fabric across the Cardinal's lap, creating a nest with its little paws. As Alpha inspects the small rodent, the Cardinal opens the box of face paint and pries the lid off the tube of white paint. Staring at the small tube, the paint beading at the top when he applies pressure, the Cardinal says, "I'm sorry for… for bringing you back _wrong_. I know it must hurt you. It also hurts me." He looks at Alpha. "And your mate, he is in pain, too? And the others?"

Alpha nods.

"We are all hurting, in our own ways, and we handle it all differently." Bringing out the small palette from the box, the Cardinal squeezes a moderate amount of white paint onto the surface. Then, drawing out a brush from the box, he begins to apply the white paint to his cheeks, his forehead. "I think," he says, "I can make it better without magic, if you will let me try."

"How?"

"I have my rats for emotional support. I found your mate a cat for his, but the physical pain—I don't know… Would talking about it with others help?"

Alpha tries to remember what humans call it. "Like… group therapy?" he guesses. "Support groups?"

"Yes, maybe. I believe the church needs more resources for that." The Cardinal becomes sheepish, and he lowers his hand from his face to stare at his reflection, as if he were perturbed at the being looking back at him.

Alpha hadn't known it was the Cardinal's doing that Omega now had a feline fiend to steal away the attention Alpha craved. He supposes it makes sense, given how the cat soon appeared after their return to earth—and if the Cardinal was responsible for that, he must have gifted the animal out of guilt, after discovering the effects of his summoning were ill-advised.

Would _talking_ about the pain make it go away? Is it really that simple?

Perhaps it will lessen the pain, if anything, maybe even mute it to a delicate ring that Alpha will only be able to hear on quiet nights. Even then—on those nights, if he's with Omega, the pain, although ravenous, already becomes tolerable. What would speaking of it among a group do that Omega already couldn't do, when Omega could do anything?

"I know the earth ghouls are proficient at… _healing herbs_ ," the Cardinal says. "I don't want to be their competition."

"I think this can co-exist."

The Cardinal grabs the tube of black paint. He holds it, the small thing, as if it held so much more than black paint. He begins to speak, quietly, to the tube, to Alpha, "I know you were obeying orders, when you killed them, but it seemed… _personal_ to present his head on my pillow. Was it Sister who ordered that? She always had a soft spot for him. Perhaps she thought… I was a bad influence…"

"Nihil," Alpha says, and the Cardinal grips the tube so hard the lid pops off and hits the mirror.

" _Ah_ ," he whispers. "Right."

From his spot next to the Cardinal, Alpha is able to hear Omega through the door. He hadn't heard him move down the hall, but his thoughts, pressing against the door, will always be loud enough for Alpha. _How is he_? Omega asks. Alpha imagines him sitting on the floor, long legs outstretched, maybe even with that cat sitting pretty on his thighs. He'd have his head leaned against the wall, chin tilted up to look up at Alpha, who continues to stand beside the Cardinal, crumpled tissue in his fist, which he sets on the vanity.

He glances at the Cardinal, eyes him poking through the box to find a brush with a fine tip. _He's fine, I think. How much did you hear?_

_Enough._

The Cardinal brushes the tip of his thumb along the bristles of a brush, dipping it into the black paint he had administered to the palette, next to the dwindling mountain of white. Nearly touching on the edges, they refuse to form gray. "Your mate can come in," the Cardinal tells Alpha. "And—please—you can remove your masks."

Now, Alpha hears Omega standing, his back sliding up the wall as he manages to balance his cat on his shoulders. He enters the room, once attempting silence, yet achieving none of it, as the metal tip of his cane demands notice, as does the cat on his shoulder. When Omega stands before the Cardinal, he removes his mask, and so does Alpha.

This movement forces the cat to leave her spot on Omega, not because of her inability to withstand the sight of her owner's true form, but because she notices the Cardinal's bed is perfectly made, all tight corners and not even a dent in the blood-red comforter. She taints the fabric with her paws, taking gentle steps that leave her prints behind, like she treads in snow. Up to the head of the bed, she places herself on a pillow, spins in a circle, and begins to purr once she settles.

Alpha and Omega hold their masks to their chests and wait for the Cardinal to comment on their appearances, but the Cardinal says nothing. He barely even acknowledges their faces, what he can see; he only smiles, and he places a hand on Omega's arm, squeezes his wrist, and then does the same to Alpha. His hand is warm, naked, no gloves to protect himself—it's the first time Alpha thinks he has felt a human's touch.

"Thank you, Copia," Alpha says.

Copia returns to the mirror. "You two can leave me. I don't know why Sister insists on my need for escorts. You have already given me all I need for tonight." Then, "Actually, _ah_ , could you make sure my tricycle is oiled up? Nihil never liked me riding it through the church, but… as you can see"—he flourishes his wrist—" _he isn't here_ —and I'm sure as shit not going anywhere."

Before they leave the room, Omega points at the pot of dying orange flowers by the door. After a glance at Copia, Alpha lifts the vase and takes it with them. The farther he carries it, the lighter it becomes.

 _Put it in our garden_ , Omega says. _I will try to bring it back to life._

_What if it's too far gone?_

_Nothing is ever too far gone._

While Omega goes to tend to Copia's tricycle, Alpha places the flower in their garden, somewhere it will get sunlight and rainfall from the tree branches overhead. He wants to place it in an abbey once it flourishes, opening up their surroundings to its opportunity, but he wonders if it should stay out here for good, if he should even remove it from its concrete pot and let its roots spread throughout the soil.

Would it be in pain if he or Omega were to remove it from the pot? Discomfort is familiar—that much Alpha knows as his breaths continue to come to him staggered. With his mask off, pushed up to the top of his head, it doesn't get easier to breathe. Sometimes, the mask helps with his breathing, but he isn't himself when he has the mask on.

He imagines the flower's roots as the interiority of his lungs, spreading as far as they are allowed, given their confinements. Does it hurt to grow when they're confined? Or do the roots accommodate their vessel, curling up and around the edges until they are made to touch themselves once more?

Alpha places a hand on his chest. He wills his flame to ignite the weeds in his lungs, but they grow, and they grow, and Alpha realizes that, _yes_ , it does hurt to grow.

He stands from the garden bed. He keeps his mask off. Discomfort be damned. He'll foster his own familiarity.

 _Little one_ , Omega calls for him.

_Shut up._

_There, there_.

Alpha finds Omega, unmasked, in a back corridor. Up on the second story, he has a hand on the railing as the other holds his cane. He and Alpha both know they must don their masks for the coronation, but they will have their moments, no matter how small.

Alpha weighs their options. Could they stay here all night, enjoy the coronation from afar? Alpha can hear the party already, all the chatter and the stamping feet. He can smell the food, too, all the grease and the sugar, the spices. Could they enjoy the food from afar? Could they have a feast of their own, stolen from the kitchens, after the commotion has died down?

With Omega by his side, could they remain undiscovered in this small corridor, overlooking their garden?

Would Copia understand their absence? Would he understand their appearance?

 _Little one_ , Omega teases him, but there's a smile on his face—a smile that makes the scar on his lip deepen. He drums his fingers against the stone rail. His rings are music on their own. It not so much stops the tightening in Alpha's lungs but dulls the ache. It's a reminder. It's a good reminder, Alpha thinks.

Omega is waiting for Alpha as much as Alpha is waiting for him, so Alpha climbs the stairs to meet his mate.


End file.
